


But for you I'd leave it all

by Pangea



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Class Differences, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Sweetheart, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Jewelry, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nobility, Pining, Poor Erik, Smitten Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangea/pseuds/Pangea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years ago Erik left the Xavier household and never looked back once despite the feelings he's always harbored for his childhood friend and Lord Xavier's only son, Charles. Independent and alone, Erik has built up his own jewelry shop that has garnered success and great prestige throughout the city.</p>
<p>When the papers announce Charles' engagement, Erik isn't surprised to receive the commission to design the wedding rings even if it means seeing Charles again after years of avoiding him. But with Charles back in his life, Erik now has to come to terms with all of his old feelings returning in full force just in time to watch Charles be married off to someone else and be forever out of Erik's reach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a random tumblr prompt: "AU where Erik is a metalsmith/jeweler who is hired to design Charles' arranged marriage wedding ring" where I meant to write a ficlet but then it kept getting longer and longer and so I wrote an entire fic instead. :') Also partly inspired by the song [Budapest by George Ezra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHrLPs3_1Fs), which I've borrowed lyrics from for the title.
> 
> With thanks to **garnetquyen** for all the encouragement and the beautiful title card (!!), and to **ikeracity** for listening to me grumble throughout the writing process.

 

 

A stiff-lipped butler leads Erik into a small sitting room off the main atrium to wait, sweeping a sharp glance up and down him one last time before retreating and pulling the doors shut with a snap. The room is lavishly decorated, from the paintings displayed on the gilded walls to the several plush chairs arranged in front of a currently cold and empty hearth, but rather than sitting Erik makes his way over to stand in front of the lone window that looks out into the gardens.

He hadn’t been surprised to receive the summons for an appointment, a house call only those who live in this size home can afford to pay for, but he’d still been wary. Erik knows where he does and does not belong, and even the sitting room alone oozes with the kind of wealth that Erik will never have in his lifetime, and he can feel the way he sticks out plain and shabby even without the judgmental eyes of the servant. The sooner he can take his measurement—a process that fortunately only takes seconds despite the fact he was made to travel all the way out here and waste half the morning—Erik can leave, and go back to his tiny but prestigious little shop on the other side of the city.

The doors to the room open again abruptly, and Erik turns. Lord Charles Xavier enters, harassed and harried as he’s escorted in by the same butler and followed by two maids who carry a low table between them. Frozen by the window, Erik has no eyes for anyone but Charles, who likewise has come to a halt, just on the edge of the oriental rug that covers most of the hardwood floor. His eyes really are that blue, Erik notes distantly as they stare at one another, it wasn’t an exaggeration. Another maid scurries into the room carrying a tray of tea and cakes but Erik barely sees her, taking Charles in and soaking up his image like a sponge.

Charles recovers first, clearing his throat as he deftly rearranges his expression to cover up his initial shock, offering Erik a hint of a faint, tentative smile. “Erik,” he says, sounding unsure as to whether he should be delighted or dismayed, “it’s—you.”

Erik forgets how to respond for a moment, but the butler’s pointed glare from behind Charles quickly reminds him. He gives a short, jerky bow. “Good morning, my lord.”

For a moment it looks as if Charles is going to gape at him, but Erik watches once again as he does another quick and careful rearrangement of his face, slipping on a cool and indifferent mask. Erik doesn’t know whether he aches with relief or something else. “Right, that will be all, thank you,” Charles says politely to the servants, “you may leave us.”

“I’ll be just outside, sir,” the butler says, waving the maids on before stepping outside and pulling the doors shut, leaving Erik and Charles standing alone in the sitting room that suddenly seems ten times smaller.

“Please,” Charles says, gesturing towards the two chairs that the maids have arranged on either side of the low table, “sit.”

Erik makes sure not to sink down until Charles has settled himself in the chair opposite of his, setting his kit down on the floor at his feet and bending to undo the clasps. He’s aware of Charles’ gaze on him, almost palpably heavy in the silence.

“You look well,” Charles says after a moment, quiet enough that Erik could choose to ignore it if he wanted. “I’m glad.”

Since there’s no way for Charles to see his face, Erik closes his eyes briefly. “So do you,” he answers, finishing digging out his measuring tape and straightening in his chair. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

Charles puffs out a breath of air, blowing his bangs back off of his forehead. The motion is so familiar that Erik almost has to stop himself from reaching over across the table to smooth them flat again. “Arranged engagement,” he says flatly, gaze flickering over towards the window, “not my choice.”

“The papers mentioned that it was arranged by your mother and Lord Marko,” Erik acknowledges, and then realizes his mistake as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“So that’s it, then,” Charles says, leaning back in his chair with a small, mirthless laugh, “you’re allowed to keep track of me through the society papers and meanwhile I’m kept in the dark that you’re even living in the same city as me.” He shakes his head with disbelief. “Was our childhood really so terrible, Erik, that it required cutting all ties like that?”

Erik tries to think of something to say, but his mind is blank. _No_ , he wants to say, _it wasn’t you, it was me._ But the words won’t come.

Charles’ mouth is downturned, and while Erik can endure Charles’ disbelief, could probably even endure Charles’ anger, he’s never stood a chance against Charles’ disappointment. He looks away, shoulders tense. He doesn’t know how to explain himself, now that it’s been so long.

“Just take whatever measurements you need,” Charles says after a long pause, dropping his hand down onto the table.

Erik winds the measuring tape around Charles’ ring finger carefully, keeping his motions clinical and neat. “I’ll need to measure your fiance too.”

“My fiance—” Charles’ lip curls distastefully over the word, “—is currently out leading a hunting party. They took their midday with them so I don’t know when he’s due back.”

“I’ll have to come back another day, then,” Erik answers neutrally, unwinding the tape from Charles’ finger and jotting down the measurement in his notes. He bends down to close up his kit again, already estimating how long it’s going to take to cross the city in the steam carriage in mid-morning traffic.

“That’s it?” Charles asks, sounding mildly surprised. It’s enough for Erik to look back up at him questioningly. “That’s all you came out here to do?”

“I have samples of bands you can take a look at,” Erik says, “but your fiance would have to be present anyway to give his opinion if you’re planning on matching or if you want to talk customization.”

“You could craft these bands out of tin foil and I couldn’t care less,” Charles says dryly, but he looks slightly chagrinned. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, I’m sure you have plenty of projects to be working on. Next time we’ll come to you.”

“I’ll leave a card,” Erik says, something funny twisting inside his chest at the notion of seeing Charles again so soon, even if Charles stays distant and disappointed in him. He thought he’d been fine, these last ten long, lonely years, and perhaps he could’ve kept on being fine if he hadn’t seen Charles at all, but now he’s a thirsty man who’s reached an oasis. “You can set up an appointment at your convenience.”

“We’ll do that,” Charles says briskly, pushing himself to his feet and absently tugging the sleeves of his embroidered jacket back down so they cover his wrists again. “Help yourself,” he says, nodding to the untouched tray of cakes, “and I’m sure you remember the way out. _Wonderful_ seeing you again, Erik.”

Erik lets that last parting shot go unanswered, eyes glued to Charles’ back as he strides out of the room. There was a time where he never would’ve allowed Charles to get the last sarcastic word in on anything, would’ve grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to a halt so they could really get to arguing properly, but allowing himself to think about that is just as out of place as Erik feels in the present, back in the household he grew up in. He belongs here less than he ever did as a boy. Perhaps he never truly belonged at all.

At least he can take one small, selfish comfort in one thing, Erik thinks to himself grimly as he picks up his kit and heads out of the sitting room to take his leave: Charles seems even less thrilled about his engagement than Erik is.

 

—————

 

Cain Marko is a greasy, obnoxious man and Erik hates him the moment he sets foot in the shop a week later—he hated Cain by principle before, of course, but now he can hate the man with active interest, especially after Cain nearly knocks over an entire display case just by turning around. At his side, Charles looks like he shares Erik’s sentiment, dropping their linked arms as soon as Cain’s distracted by the stones inlaid in the necklaces and approaching the counter where Erik stands waiting for them.

“If he breaks anything, do charge him double,” Charles says, and Erik wants to grin.

“I can charge him double the rate for every minute you’re here,” Erik assures him instead, and is rewarded with the way Charles’ eyes light with the shared joke.

“By all means,” Charles says, and then casts a curious glance around. “So this is your shop.”

“Yes it is.” Erik allows himself a small moment of pride, both in the shop and the fact that Charles is here to see it, to see what Erik’s made of himself. The shop’s name is fairly well-known throughout the city, and he gets noble, merchant, and common clients alike. He’s got a firm, solid leg to stand on now, and he built all of it on his own. He likes to think Edie would be proud.

Cain chooses this moment to lumber over, wrapping one meaty arm around Charles’ shoulders. “You’ve got some nice stuff over there, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

“I’d be happy to take anything out for you to examine more closely, my lord,” Erik says through his teeth, pointedly not looking at Charles. Out out the corner of his eye, though, it seems Charles is having just as hard of a time looking back as Cain tugs him close. “In the meantime, your left hand, if you please.”

Cain drops his hand down on the counter and Erik sets to work with his measuring tape. “A little birdie tells me you two used to know each other,” he says with a sharp grin, not even bothering to disguise how he’s sizing Erik up. “You were a servant for the Xaviers?”

His fingers are like sausages, much thicker than Charles’, and his knuckles are bruised. Erik lets go of his hand as fast as earthly possible and jots down the measurement. “My mother cooked for the family,” he answers shortly, “would my lord care to take a look at options for the bands?”

“You’ve done pretty well for yourself, for a servant,” Cain says, as if he hasn’t heard what Erik’s said, “almost _too_ well, you know?”

“Cain,” Charles says sharply, his voice tight and tense and nearly unrecognizable, “let’s look at the bands, shall we?”

“Of course, darling,” Cain says, drawling out the last word mockingly, and Erik pulls out his tray of samples and places it carefully on the counter if only to give his hands something to do aside from punching his customer.

“We offer a variety of metals for the band,” Erik says as Cain leans down to look, “and if you’re considering adding stones then there are a number of ways I can set them.”

“Can you put more than one stone on it?” Cain asks, poking at the rings on the tray.

“I have a way to design the ring so that stones are actually inlaid around the entire circumference of the band,” Erik says, “but the process will take a couple weeks and it’s more expensive.”

He’s said the magic word. “I want that,” Cain says at once, and then jostles Charles, adding, “we both want that, don’t we? The wedding’s still a couple months away, we have plenty of time.”

“It’s fine,” Charles says, head turned to the side so he can look out the shop’s window at the busy street. Erik wishes he knew who Charles wants to see less, himself or Cain. He hopes it’s Cain.

“Gold bands, with as many diamonds as you can fit,” Cain says to Erik, drawing him back from studying Charles’ profile. “There, that was easy.”

“Exceptionally,” Erik says, staring back at him expressionlessly. “I’ll have them ready in two weeks.”

“Perfect,” Cain says, “we’re done here. Come on, Charles, I’m starving. Let’s head to that bistro up the street before we head home, and then we can sign the contract.”

“I can walk on my own,” Charles says, shrugging out of Cain’s grip and practically bolting for the door, crossing Erik’s small shop in five strides and pushing his way out onto the street.

“He’s a little tightass, isn’t he,” Cain says to Erik with a grin as they watch him go, “here’s hoping that he’ll loosen up enough when I finally get to fuck him.”

He’s still laughing as he exits the shop, and fortunately he never looks back to catch Erik’s expression.

 

—————

 

Two weeks later Charles steps back into Erik’s shop, blessedly alone.

Erik’s busy with another customer but Charles doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, content to drift in front of the various display cases on the other end of the room while Erik wraps up his sale. He doesn’t approach the main counter until well after the other customer has left and Erik’s finished putting away all the pieces he’d had to get out to please her.

For a moment they look at each other and once again Erik is uncertain what to say. At last he decides on, “You know, most people of your status send couriers for this type of thing.”

“And how’s a courier to know if I’ll like the rings or not?” Charles asks, one eyebrow raised, but then he subsides, averting his eyes. “Actually, I...wanted the chance to apologize. For last time, and the day you came to the house.”

“If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me,” Erik says slowly. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

“You know I was never very good at staying angry at you for long,” Charles says, meeting his gaze again. “I’m just...honestly, truly glad to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Erik replies, almost surprised to find how his relief warms him to the core.

“Why _did_ you leave?” Charles asks hesitantly after a moment. “It was so sudden that I couldn’t help but wonder, sometimes, if it was something I’d done.”

“It wasn’t you,” Erik says quickly, the words coming out more readily than the first time. It’s infuriating, in its own right, how Charles has always inspired nothing but honesty in him. “I actually...don’t have much of an excuse.”

“Try me.”

Erik lets out a breath. “After my mother died, I realized...it was hard to be there,” he says, meeting Charles’ gaze squarely because he refuses to flinch from this. “It was fine when we were young. No one thought twice about the lord’s son playing with the cook’s son. We were close in age, our friendship was natural. But after…” Edie had fallen ill, exposed to the coughing sickness that had swept through the entire city. Half of the Xavier household, including Charles’ father, had been bedridden with it for a month. Erik had stayed by his mother’s bedside throughout tending to her every need but it hadn’t been enough. “We grew up. Your father passed too, and suddenly you were lord of the house. I was...just the son of a servant. So I packed my bags and left to find an apprenticeship somewhere else.”

He doesn’t say how he’d discovered that he was in love with Charles, how his mother’s death had put an abrupt, easy end to how Erik had been dying slowly himself while faced with something he knew he could never have. It was easy then and it’s still easier now to use her death as a the reason he left the Xavier household.

“It would have been nice to have had a friend to share grief with,” Charles points out, but he doesn’t sound disappointed or on the verge of anger like he’d been back at the house. He just sounds tired. “I mourned your mother more than I mourned my own father, you know. But I mourned you the most.” His blue eyes are piercing, and Erik has to will himself not to look away. “It felt like you had died too.”

“Still here,” Erik says as lightly as he can manage. He hesitates. He has no way to tell if he’s overstepping, and Charles was always better at saying the exactly right thing, but Erik can at least try. “At the time it seemed like it would be easier in the long run to just completely cut ties, and for that I _am_ sorry. I was wrong.”

A real smile breaks out across Charles’ face and he gives a small laugh. He reaches across the counter to clasp one of Erik’s hands. “I know what it takes to get you to actually apologize,” he says, half teasing, “but you’re forgiven, my friend.”

“Thank you,” Erik says, nothing but honest, and tries to ignore the way his heart twinges. He can’t help the way he quirks a small smile either. Charles’ happiness has always been infectious, its presence filling up a room or its absence leaving a cold lump in Erik’s chest; it’s hard not to smile if Charles is too. It’s almost enough to erase the past ten years away entirely.

“So you’re a jeweler,” Charles says, and Erik remembers the reason Charles is here in the first place, turning to retrieve the small, felt box that holds his and Cain’s matching rings. “I never would’ve pegged you for the type.”

“I did smithing first, for awhile,” Erik admits, opening the box to show Charles the rings. He reaches for Charles’ hand. “May I?”

“I see that,” Charles remarks softly, sliding the pad of one finger across the calluses in Erik’s palm as he settles his hand in Erik’s grip. “What changed?”

“One of the smiths I worked under noticed I had a good eye for the finished products,” Erik says dryly. “I liked it well enough. He started lending me out to the jeweler he worked with and suddenly I had an apprenticeship there instead.”

“Well I’m glad,” Charles says lightly as he watches Erik carefully work the ring sized for him out of the felt slot, “otherwise I might’ve never run into you again if you’d stayed a smith.”

“You’re under no obligation to believe me, but I can’t tell you how many times I thought about sending a letter.”

“But you didn’t.”

“When I was doing my apprenticeships, I was busy,” Erik says, “which I know, it’s hardly an excuse. But it was a convenient enough one for me to believe. And then once I was done and had my own business…” He shrugs his shoulders. “It felt like it was too late.”

“You’re an ass, Erik,” Charles says, but he looks like he’s fighting off a grin.

“I’m an ass,” Erik agrees in defeat, but he quirks another small smile of his own.

Together they both seem to hold their breath as Erik carefully slides the ring onto Charles’ finger, and Erik is suddenly hyperaware of the intimacy of the moment, their hands tangled together and their heads bent close over the glass counter. The moment doesn’t belong to him, though, and he lets go as quickly as he can, dropping his hands down below the countertop and swallowing.

“Well?”

“It’s beautiful,” Charles admits, holding up his hand to admire the ring. As promised, Erik carefully inlaid diamonds at equal spacing in the gold, all the way around his finger. “Your work is so clean and elegant. Sorry,” he says with a small, rueful laugh, “I’m no expert at describing jewelry aside from using adjectives like shiny and pretty.”

“I’ll take shiny and pretty,” Erik allows, and then snorts when Charles makes a face at him. “Your fiance’s is a perfect match. I can have an invoice sent up to the house whenever you’d like.”

“You know, I hate to be a bother,” Charles says slowly, “but on my way here I happened to overhear that diamonds and gold are entirely last season, and I would really hate to be tacky. Are you too busy to remake the rings, but this time in silver and with rubies?” He winks. “I’ll pay for these since you already made them, of course, too.”

“It’ll be two more weeks,” Erik answers, catching on at once, “but I certainly can.”

“Excellent,” Charles says cheerily, the happiest Erik’s seen him while discussing something in relation to his wedding. He slips the ring off and hands it back to Erik. “Charge us double, seriously.”

“I’ll consider it,” Erik says, even though he knows he won’t. He’s never wanted the Xavier money. He’d much rather be _giving_ Charles a ring.

He pushes the thought away. It’s just a fantasy, one that will never come true, especially now. Erik busies himself with packing the rings away. He’ll wipe the fingerprints off the smaller one and set them out in the discount display later to see if they’ll ever resell. No reason not to.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Charles says, still lingering at the counter.

Erik offers him a hand and they shake. After their moment with the ring, a handshake feels cold and impersonal. “See you.”

And for the third time in just as many weeks, Erik stands still and watches Charles go.

 

—————

 

Four days later, Erik looks up from his workbench in the back room, alerted by the soft jingling of the bell over the shop’s door, and walks out into the sale room to find Charles at the counter.

“The rings aren’t done yet,” Erik says blankly, and then mentally winces at how it sounds like a brushoff. Truth be told, his heart has flipped over several times in his chest at the sight of Charles.

“I know,” Charles says quickly, “and please take all the time in the world with them. But I happened to be in the area and—” he lifts up a small sack that smells suspiciously like the fritters from the stall up the block hopefully, “—interested in lunch?”

“I see your sweet tooth has only grown stronger,” Erik remarks, and Charles ducks his head with a laugh.

They settle in the back room after Erik locks up the shop for the lunch hour, using his workbench as a table after clearing some of the space. It puts them side-by-side, elbows brushing as they dig into the flaky pastries. It reminds Erik of the thousands of lunches they ate together like this when they were young, installed at the kitchen counter by Edie so she could keep an eye on them while she started dinner preparations. Charles would always have to eat dinner out in the main dining room with his family, but lunches were just for the two of them.

“What are you doing on this side of town anyway,” Erik asks before the silence can grow too charged. He can’t think of any other shops in this district that offer anything related to weddings.

“Just picking up a couple things here and there,” Charles says evasively, more focused on Erik’s pile of scrap metal. “It’s an absolute madhouse at the mansion, so I decided to get some fresh air.”

“I’m surprised your mother doesn’t have people out looking for you,” Erik says, “you’re probably putting a major stall on the wedding planning.” If he remembers Lady Sharon Xavier as well as he thinks he does, no doubt she wants her son’s wedding to be perfect in every form, and not for Charles’ sake, but rather for keeping up appearances under society’s scrutiny.

Charles lets out a short laugh. “I’ve made it fairly clear that I don’t care about what kind of fabric the tablecloths at the reception should be or what kind of flowers we have. She’s probably glad I’ve disappeared, it means she doesn’t even have to pretend to consult me for decisions.”

“And your fiance?”

“Cain’s too busy taking advantage of the Xavier hunting grounds,” Charles says with a shrug. “I think as far as this whole charade goes the only things he’s interested in are the reception afterwards and the wedding night.”

Erik tries not to react, doing his best to bury how he feels sick at the thought of Cain touching Charles in _any_ fashion with his thick, meaty fingers. “Ah.”

“Tell me more about your apprenticeships,” Charles says, gathering up the empty wrappings from their pastries to toss in the bin, “you said you started with smithing?”

They shouldn’t be doing this, Erik knows. He should tell Charles that he needs to get back to work, that Charles should probably go back home and give _some_ input to the plans for his own wedding. This is exactly why Erik left in the first place, to save himself the heartache of being close to Charles yet unable to ever actually touch. It’s only going to make this worse when Charles is married off in a few weeks and will inevitably stop coming to the shop, a ring on his finger at last and his business with Erik concluded.

Instead he says, “Pass me the tray next to you so I can finish that bracelet while I talk,” and tries to pretend the smile it earns him in answer isn’t killing him slowly.

 

—————

 

Charles starts showing up at the shop nearly every other day. Often he brings lunch and stays for Erik’s entire break, but other times he only drops by for a handful of minutes that Erik nevertheless covets. Charles offers up a number of excuses—he’s come to check on Erik’s progress on the rings, he’s out on another break from the stuffy old mansion, he still wants to hear more from the old friend he’s only recently reconnected with—and while Erik supposes there is some truth to some of these, he can’t help but notice how Charles is always tense and guarded when he arrives but by the time he leaves, he’s looser and more relaxed again.

“Is the wedding going to be huge, then?” Erik asks one afternoon. He’s brought some of his work out to the front counter so he can set a pair of diamonds in Lady Frost’s earrings while keeping an eye on the shop. By this point it’s an unspoken agreement the wedding is a subject that’s largely off-topic for both of them; it’s been clear from the start Charles doesn’t like discussing it and Erik hates any reminders it’s not and never will be _him_ Charles is getting married to. “You seem stressed.”

Charles is beside him, perched on the stool behind the counter where Erik usually sits. “I think everyone in high society has been invited,” he says, voice taking on the same vague, distant tone he uses whenever the wedding does come up. “I honestly think my mother would’ve invited the whole city if the presence of commoners wouldn’t make people in the noble houses talk.”

“Go behind her back and invite them all anyway,” Erik suggests, giving a faint grin when he hears Charles snort, “it’s your wedding, not hers.”

“It might as well be her wedding,” Charles says dryly. He drums his fingers on the counter until Erik shoots him a look to get him to stop. “You could come. To the wedding, I mean. You were a member of the household, after all.”

Startled enough to nearly drop his tools, Erik makes sure he sets everything down carefully before turning fully to stare at Charles. “I hardly think it’s my place,” he points out tightly, “after all, we don’t want people to talk.”

Eyes flashing, Charles slides down off the stool to his feet, jaw clenched. “Is that all you care about,” he says bitterly, “our respective social statuses? How foolish of me for wanting to overlook that since it _doesn’t matter anyway_ and trying to invite my only friend to my wedding.”

“Charles—”

But Charles brushes past Erik and around the counter, striding out of the shop without looking back. Erik can only stand where he is and watch the door rattle shut behind him, and wonder if karma has anything to do with how many times he’s been forced to watch Charles leave.

 

—————

 

A courier is sent to pick up the finished rings. Erik can’t claim he’s surprised but it doesn’t stop him from quietly aching as he hands the small parcel over and accepts his payment—for both sets of rings, just like Charles promised.

That night, Erik doesn’t get any sleep. It was easier, the first time, to be the one to quietly remove himself from Charles’ life and lie to himself that Charles wasn’t hurt by it. It’s infinitely worse to bear the knowledge that Charles is the one who’s decided to cut ties this time, exactly _because_ Erik hurt him.

It’s incredibly selfish, which only makes Erik’s self-loathing skyrocket. He gets up the next morning with full intentions to starting researching what it’ll take to move his business to another city entirely. He’ll lose a lot of clientele but he gets enough orders from out of town already that he should be able to make it until he can build up a local client base again.

He’s so busy silently berating himself for being able to live in the same city with Charles just as long as Charles didn’t even know he was there but tucking in his tail and running as soon as Charles discovered him that he doesn’t realize his first customer of the day is already waiting outside the door. Erik’s barely flicked the lock open when Cain Marko himself pushes his way into the shop.

“Lord Marko,” Erik says warily, unsure why Cain would ever deign to pay him another visit personally, “how can I help you.”

“You can tell me what the hell you think this is,” Cain snaps, thrusting out the same ring box that Erik sent off to the Xavier mansion with the courier yesterday.

Still wary and now puzzled, Erik takes the box and leads Cain back over to the counter. Did he make a mistake and somehow put the wrong rings inside? But when he opens the box, he’s met with the same silver bands inlaid with rubies that are supposed to be there.

“These are the exact rings your fiance ordered,” Erik says, keeping his voice clipped but professional. He closes the box and sets it down where Cain can reach it. “I’m not sure what the problem is, my lord.”

“ _Charles_ ordered these?”

“He did after finding your original order of golden bands with diamonds unsatisfactory,” Erik confirms, lifting an eyebrow. “I assumed he had spoken to you about it.”

“Why did he pick rubies?” Cain demands. “He knows I hate rubies. They clash with the Marko colors.”

Erik blinks. “He didn’t mention it. He merely placed the order.”

“I don’t want them,” Cain snaps, shoving the box back towards Erik.

“I still have the bands from the original order,” Erik offers, sweeping the box neatly out of reach at once. He trusts Cain about as far as he imagines he could throw him, which judging by his massive girth wouldn’t be far at all. “I can fetch them for you.”

“No, I don’t want those either,” Cain says dismissively, “I want you to start over. I want platinum bands with emeralds instead.”

“It’s going to cost you,” Erik points out, but Cain scoffs and waves a hand. “I also don’t have enough emeralds for the project in stock right now, so you’ll have to wait for me to get those shipped in as well.”

“Whatever, I don’t care. Just get it done.” He turns and lumbers back out of the shop, heaving himself up into the steam carriage waiting by the curb.

Reopening the ring box, Erik studies the red gems glinting up at him from the confines of polished silver. He’ll take them out, he decides, because they can always be reset in a different pieces, and he can melt down the silver to use for something else too. He’s already put the gold rings out for sale, so there’s no point in keeping duplicates.

Besides, taking the time to carefully extract each ruby one by one will give him plenty of time to contemplate what exactly Charles is playing at.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning for off-screen abuse.

 

The next time Charles slips into the shop Erik is ready and waiting for him. It’s only a couple days after Cain stopped by, so Erik’s had plenty of time to think. He takes his time wrapping things up with his current customer, and by the time Charles has mustered up the courage to approach the counter Erik stands calmly with his arms folded.

“Those were perfectly good rubies,” Erik says, and Charles has the sense to look appropriately chagrinned.

“Cain wasn’t too rude, was he?”

Erik raises his eyebrows. “The answer depends on whether or not you’re actually going to try to defend him.”

“No,” Charles answers straightaway, “I wouldn’t defend him over anything.”

It pleases Erik to hear so, but he’s careful to not let any of it show. He and Charles look at each other for a few long seconds, interrupted only by the door of the shop opening, Lady Frost’s courier stepping in. “Look,” Erik says, digging out a few coins from the pouch at his belt, “go get us some lunch and bring it back here, and we’ll talk.”

For a moment it looks like Charles might protest taking Erik’s money—he’s never allowed Erik to pay him back for all the lunches he brought in the weeks before—but he wisely holds out a hand wordlessly to accept the coins and then slips back out into the street. Erik rubs his temples, and tells himself to get a grip. Even just seeing Charles again is enough to get his heart pounding, but if they want any part of this to work and be able to keep at least a small fragment of their friendship, Erik needs to be able to keep his head straight. Charles is getting married. Any feelings Erik has—might’ve had—for him are nothing but a dead end. They always were.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Erik straightens and prepares to start haggling with Janos.

“I knew Cain wouldn’t like the rubies,” Charles explains later, once Erik’s got the shop closed up and they’ve retreated to the back room to dig into lunch. Today it’s spicy soup and sweet dumplings from the same street cart Erik usually buys from. “And I knew that he’d demand a new set of rings. He’s a greedy pig. But I figured—” he gives a faint, sheepish smile. “I figured it’d be a good excuse to keep coming back here.”

“Why are you marrying him?” Erik’s wanted to ask Charles this question from the moment they first saw each other again. It’s been killing him for weeks now, but he was never sure how or when, or even, he thinks grimly, if it was his place to ask. “You’re not exactly making it a secret that you’re less than thrilled to be getting married at all, so why are you even going along with all this in the first place?”

Smile fading, Charles toys absently with one of the empty, sauce-stained dumpling sticks before answering. “It’s what’s expected of me.”

Erik shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“When my father died, the Xavier name lost most of its prestige,” Charles says quietly, “my mother and I are lucky, if you want to call it that, that the Xavier coffers were so deep to begin with, so we were able to carry on and sustain ourselves as if nothing had changed. But it’s been years now, and our wealth is only slowly shrinking instead of growing. My mother...nothing terrifies her more than being forced into what she considers poverty. Enter Kurt and Cain of House Marko.” Charles smiles humorlessly. “Kurt Marko owns the largest coal mining company on this side of the continent. He’s too recently widowed, though, to start courting my mother. It would be too scandalous. But his son Cain and I are perfectly eligible as a match.”

“If the Markos are so well-off then why are they interested in you?” Erik asks bluntly. “You’d think they’d want nothing to do with a House that’s starting to fall from grace.”

“We own a lot of land titles,” Charles says grimly. “Kurt’s interested in mining them. I all but begged my mother to just sell them, but she wouldn’t agree. Selling them would bring us a lot of money, certainly, but it would be just another stagnant chunk of wealth. Marrying into the Marko House would ensure that our wealth would continue to grow alongside theirs. We wouldn’t eventually fall into poverty, and the Xavier name would be preserved, which as far as my mother’s concerned are the two most important things in the world.”

“I see.” But Erik doesn’t, not truly. “So that’s it, then. I guess social status really _does_ matter to you if you’re just going to put wealth and the Xavier name ahead of your own happiness and marry Cain.”

Charles glares at him. “Did I not just say that it’s my mother who cares about those things more?”

“Fine. You’re putting your mother’s happiness before your own,” Erik says tersely, “which is baffling enough as it is. Tell me, Charles, when has Lady Sharon ever been a good enough mother to you to warrant such selfless sacrifice on her behalf?”

“I don’t have the same freedoms as you do!” Charles bursts out, fiercely enough to give Erik pause. “I can’t just pack my bags and leave! You don’t think I never envied you, Erik, that you were able to just take off to pursue whatever you wanted? That you didn’t have anything holding you back or tying you down? For all that you look down on the upper class, you have to admit that at least you’re free to do what _you_ want, and aren’t obligated to do what someone else decided society should _expect_ of you.” He pauses for breath, and then laughs, frustrated and bitter. “Listen to me. I’m exactly what you hate. A poor little rich boy.”

“I don’t hate you, Charles,” Erik says slowly. _I could never hate you._ “But I do hate how you’re just...giving in to all this when it’s clearly something you don’t want.”

At that, Charles manages a faint smile. “I’m glad you’re still able to get angry on my behalf.”

“I’m always ready to get angry on your behalf,” Erik assures him, which prompts another hesitant grin. Erik tries to smile back but ends up sighing. “I don’t know, Charles, I just think you deserve...more. Better.” _Anything you want._

Charles reaches over to lay one of his hands atop Erik’s. “Thank you, my friend,” he says warmly, eyes finally crinkling along with his smile this time.

“Whatever happened to those dreams about going to the university?”

“I did attend the university for two years,” Charles admits, a hint of true pride creeping into his voice. “But then this marriage was arranged and I wasn’t able to return. Too much planning to do, and university would be too distracting according to my mother.” Erik decides not to point out that it seems like Charles has spent more time here in his shop than doing any actual wedding planning. “I’m hoping that after the wedding is finally over I’ll be able to go back, but...I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“The Marko House will be the Greater House in the union,” Charles answers wearily, withdrawing his hand, “making the Xavier House the Lesser House.”

“Oh,” Erik says, feeling sick again. In a marriage union involving two noble houses, the house designated as the Greater House, which is usually decided by amount of wealth or power, takes precedence and controls the entire relationship. Charles’ entire life will be left entirely up to Cain Marko’s whim. It makes Erik’s blood boil just thinking about it.

“I’m hoping that once the wedding is over and things settle down, Cain and I will hardly see each other anyway,” Charles says, and Erik thinks back to the comment Cain made the first day he and Charles came to the shop, and nearly snaps his own dumpling stick in half.

“You _should_ just pack your bags and leave,” Erik says vehemently, and Charles smiles wistfully.

“And where would I go?” he asks, spreading his arms a little. “I certainly wouldn’t be able to stay in the city and besides,” he bumps his shoulder against Erik’s companionably, “I’ve only just found you again. You’re not getting rid of me so easily this time, you bastard.”

Erik’s startled into a laugh, but the sound might come out slightly strangled around the sudden lump in his throat. “Years of my hard work, Charles. Utterly ruined.”

“Good,” Charles says smugly. His humor fades. “At least consider coming to the reception?” he asks quietly, not quite meeting Erik’s eyes. “You don’t have to stay long. But I—it would mean a lot. To me.” He tries to smile again, but it’s more of a small twist of his lips than anything else. “It might even make it a little more bearable.”

Erik would rather skip town for an entire month. “Consider it your wedding present. And only,” he adds matter-of-factly as Charles breaks into a full grin in relief, “if there’s something good to drink.”

“Done and done,” Charles promises, and Erik busies himself with gathering up their empty soup bowls to return to the lady who pushes the cart later in order to avoid having to look at him any longer.

Clearing his throat, Erik says, “Tell me more about the university,” and if he hears every word Charles says without truly listening, Charles doesn’t have to know.

—————

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to apologize, my lord,” Erik says gravely a week later, after he and Charles have fallen back into their routine of Charles visiting nearly every other day. “It appears my gemstone supplier misread my order and didn’t send the emeralds I need to complete your rings. I’ll have to resend the order.”

“I suppose that means it’ll take longer for the rings to be done,” Charles says casually, his eyes bright, “what a shame.”

“Yes,” Erik agrees, ignoring the tiny voice in the back of his mind that tells him he’s only delaying the inevitable, “what a shame.”

—————

A storm rolls into town over the next weekend, dark clouds heavy billowing in off the ocean and coming to a total halt, it seems like, directly over the city to dump endless buckets of heavy rain down on them all. It slows business to a crawl, and Erik’s had only one or two customers trickle in during the morning. It’s well into the afternoon now, the rain showing no signs of letting up, and Erik doubts anyone else is willing or could be bothered to brave the storm for any errands whatsoever by this point.

Instead of closing up the shop early and going home, Erik sits on his stool behind the counter and broods, watching the rain pour down in the empty street outside that’s occasionally illuminated by a flash of lightning. He could retreat to the back room and catch up on some of his other custom orders that sit waiting for him on the workbench and need to be finished, but he can’t find the energy to move. It’s like the weather is a direct reflection of his foul mood, and Erik’s going to take full advantage of the opportunity to wallow and feel sorry for himself.

Besides, it’s not like he even has the possibility of Charles showing up to look forward to. Charles never comes to the shop on the weekends, so Erik is safe from having to make small talk and put on a show of being absolutely fine when only the opposite is true.

You were perfectly fine with ignoring him for ten years, Erik reminds himself bitterly for the hundredth time as another roll of thunder makes the building shudder. You have less than _nothing_ of a claim to him now that you ever did to begin with.

Because the thing is, Erik knows he doesn’t actually want Charles to pack his bags and leave in order to escape the Markos and his mother. He wants Charles for himself, wants Charles to leave behind the demands and expectations of high society to be with Erik. It’s incredibly selfish, and Erik’s disgust for himself runs miles deep, but it does nothing to change the way he feels. Who does he think he is, resurfacing in Charles’ life again only by pure chance and thinking he has any right to feel this way? He left Charles behind without looking back ten years ago and never tried to reach out even while living in the same city as him again. He should be grateful Charles hasn’t turned him away completely, and be content with any form of friendship that their lives and places in society allow.

It makes Erik angry, mostly at himself and sometimes irrationally at Charles, but then again his mother always used to gently tease him that his temper was like a loose cannon in a zeppelin: directionless but catastrophically destructive. He hates that Charles is getting married, he hates Cain, hates that he and Charles were born in vastly different social classes, hates that Charles didn’t try to stop him from leaving, or didn’t try looking harder for him…

But that’s unfair, and Erik knows it. Charles confessed weeks ago during one of his very first visits to the shop that in the first year Erik had been gone, Charles scoured the entire city up and down looking for him. But the first thing Erik had done was catch a steamship heading up the river, and all of his apprenticeships had taken place in cities and towns further inland. By the time Erik returned, Charles had long since stopped searching.

And then, like straight out of a scene from one of the stage drama plays advertised all over the city, another bright flash of lightning followed by a rolling crash of thunder heralds Charles bursting through the door into the shop, panting harshly and utterly drenched.

“Charles?” Erik asks blankly, shooting up to his feet at once, shocked and confused.

“I’m sorry,” Charles says when he’s able to speak, eyes wide, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Did you _run_ all the way here from—” Erik stops dead when he sees the bruise on Charles’ cheek, dark and stark against Charles’ pale skin. “Who,” Erik says, voice unrecognizable, his ears ringing with the molten hot anger coursing through his blood, finally allowed a real target at last. “Was it him?”

His expression must truly be something else because Charles hurries forward in alarm, heedless of the way he drips all over Erik’s floor. He ducks around the side of the counter and then stops short in front of Erik. “Erik, it’s okay,” he says quickly, “I’m okay. I’m more angry than hurt.”

“It is not okay,” Erik grinds out, but then Charles overcomes the last of his hesitation and steps forward, closing the last of the distance left between them and wraps his arms around Erik tightly. He’s sopping wet and freezing cold from the rain but Erik doesn’t care, folding Charles into his arms tightly while Charles buries his face in Erik’s shoulder. He fits so perfectly against Erik, like they were made to slot together.

“It was Kurt,” he says quietly, voice muffled. “I keep putting off signing the marriage contract. I don’t want to sign it till the day of the wedding if I can help it. But Kurt keeps insisting that I do it sooner, do it now. He cornered me in my father's old study but when I still refused he lost his temper.”

“And he _hit_ you,” Erik growls, teeth clenched, “if I ever see him I’ll—”

“—do nothing, because I’m fine,” Charles says firmly, gently extracting himself from Erik’s grip to put the proper amount of distance between them again according to propriety. Erik doesn’t want to let go of him just yet but allows him to anyway. “Like I said, I was more angry than anything else, so I got out of the house and left. Before I knew it, I was running here.” He smiles ruefully. “I just really wanted to see you.”

“You could’ve slipped on the cobblestone and cracked your head and drowned in a puddle,” Erik says flatly, annoyed and still brimming with anger, but Charles tips his head back with real laughter, loud and delighted.

“I can’t say enough how glad I am I’ve found you again, my friend,” he says when he’s finished, eyes gone soft and fond, and just like that Erik’s anger dissipates, cooling off and fading. A long, violent shiver runs through him, teeth chattering. “I’m sorry about the floor, and your shirt,” he apologizes, “but Kurt should have calmed down enough now, so I’ll—”

“You’re not going back out into the storm,” Erik says at once. He brushes past Charles and goes over to lock the shop’s door. “You can stay here until it’s passed. Come with me.”

“Alright,” Charles says, surprised into compliance, blinking once where he stands still dripping all over the floor.

Leading the way into the back room, Erik glances back only once to make sure Charles is following before opening the second door he always keeps shut during business hours. It’s a short climb up a tiny, narrow staircase that creaks with every step and then for the first time ever, Charles is standing with him in the small, cozy flat that Erik keeps above his shop. It occurs to Erik rather suddenly he’s never brought anyone here before, his private sanctuary; the first place that’s ever truly been his and his alone.

“This way,” Erik says gruffly when he feels Charles looking around in avid curiosity, the silence otherwise only punctuated by the sound of the rain. He leads Charles further into the flat, clicking on lights as they go, until they reach the small, cramped washroom. Originally the flat had come equipped with only a chipped tub to wash in, but after two weekends spent reconfiguring the piping and remodeling half of the tiny space, Erik had built himself a real shower on his own. “Give the boiler a minute to heat the water,” he says, turning on the taps, “but it should warm up nicely. Take as long as you want, with all this rain the storage barrel is probably overflowing anyway.”

“Thank you,” Charles says, some kind of mixed emotion on his face when Erik finally dares to turn towards him, “I really—thank you, Erik.”

“I’ll leave a towel and a set of dry clothes outside the door,” Erik says, and then practically flees.

With Charles closed up in the washroom, Erik first goes back downstairs to close up the shop properly, cranking the lever to turn the gears that work the pulley to lower the metal grates down in front of the windows. They still allow any passersby to look into the shop at the front window displays, but dissuade thieves from trying to put a fist through the expensive glass. The rest of the display cases Erik covers with plain, white linens.

The workroom is even easier to take care of, and all it takes is a brief, cursory glance across the workbench to make sure his tools are in order and he hasn’t left any projects lying out in the open. Then Erik steels himself and heads back up the stairs, flicking off the lights in the shop and pulling the door quietly shut behind him.

By the sound of things Charles is still in the shower so Erik slips into his tiny bedroom, sparing a moment to change his own wet shirt before digging through his drawers for something approximately in Charles’ size. The problem is Charles has always been shorter, so he’ll have to roll up any leggings Erik lends him, though at least his shoulders are just as broad so he should fit into one of Erik’s shirts. Erik leaves the pile on top of a spare towel just outside the washroom door and then pads back out into the front room.

At least he keeps the place neat, Erik thinks, though he has no idea what Charles thinks. Charles has a house the size of the entire block, and Erik’s sitting room and kitchen are effectively combined into one. The walls are bare, but at least he’d painted over any stains long ago. His second work table takes up most of the space in the sitting room, identical to the one downstairs and situated just behind the couch for nights when Erik brings his work home with him so he can cook dinner and finish commissions all at once.

Regretting the fact he hadn’t thought to bring up one of his in-progress custom orders to work on and keep his hands busy, Erik has nothing to do but wait. He sinks down onto his worn, lumpy couch and tips his head back, shutting his eyes and listening to the sound of the rain. _I just really wanted to see you_ , Charles had said. But what does that _mean?_

Down the hall the pipes clank as the shower is turned off, and Erik hears the door creak open and shut. They can have dinner, Erik decides, and if the storm still hasn’t passed by nightfall then Charles can have his bed and Erik will take the couch.

“Erik?” He opens his eyes to find Charles stepping out from the hallway, tentative at first until he catches sight of Erik on the couch. Color is back in his face, cheeks still flushed from the heat of the shower, looking less like a drowned rat liable to contract pneumonia at any second. “I hung my wet things up in the washroom, we’ll see if they actually dry.”

Erik’s stomach clenches at Charles in his clothes; as he predicted they hang off him baggily in some areas but overall they don’t swamp him. He looks loose and comfortable, like he’s come back from a long day and changed into clothes to relax in the privacy of home.

 _Home_.

“You shower is wonderful,” Charles babbles on, clearly trying to prevent an awkward silence from descending. He’s actually wringing his hands and somehow it helps, in a strange, convoluted way, to know Charles feels just as out of place as Erik does.

“Charles,” Erik says, pushing himself up from the couch and crossing over to steer Charles towards it, “sit.”

Charles complies, sinking down onto the couch—unquestioning obedience twice in one evening, Erik marvels, it must be some kind of record.

“There are books,” Erik says, nodding to the small stack on the rickety side table. They’re all secondhand copies, dogeared from multiple hands and multiple reads, but they’ve kept Erik company for many a night. “I’ll make dinner.”

Just like that, Charles pops up to his feet again. “I can help,” he offers, and then laughs when Erik lifts a brow. “I can keep you company,” he amends, “and provide critical feedback.”

“Is that supposed to be code for ‘complain about the levels of spice’?” Erik asks dryly, and is rewarded with a sheepish grin. “Your tastebuds were the bane of my mother’s existence. She once told me so.”

“Really, because she once told me it was your charming disposition,” Charles shoots back at once, and then they’re both grinning at each other, standing in the middle of Erik’s sitting room and it all feels like some kind of strange dream.

Erik shakes the feeling off and heads into the kitchen. He spent a lot of time helping his mother prepare dinner at the Xavier household, especially when Charles was inevitably recaptured by his governess and carted off to his lessons and then to get washed up for the meal. He’d made one of his mother’s stews a few nights ago and there are still just enough leftovers for two so it’s a small matter to set about heating it up, moving on automatic as he lights the stove and carefully lifts the pot out from storage in the coldbox.

“This is your mother’s,” Charles says from beside Erik, where he’s come to hover at Erik’s elbow. He’s almost close enough to brush against if Erik were to turn. “We’ve been through three or four cooks over the years since Edie,” he admits, “none of them were as good as her.”

“Of course not,” Erik says, catching Charles’ eye and giving another swift grin to show he’s joking. “But yes, it is. You’re in luck, I didn’t put as much spice as she usually did.”

“I would happily burn my tastebuds out for one more taste of your mother’s cooking,” Charles says, so honest Erik’s heart pangs at the shared sentiment.

“Well I’m not my mother,” he says lightly instead, “but I like to think I do her recipes justice.”

“Thank you again for this, my friend,” Charles says quietly after a few moments, watching Erik stir the pot slowly as it heats. “I know I’ve barged back into your life uninvited, but—”

“I’m glad you did,” Erik interrupts him simply, using the stew as an excuse not to have to look at Charles but standing this close as they are like this, he’s practically able to feel the warmth of Charles’ slow smile.

They settle on opposite ends of the couch together with their bowls since Erik doesn’t keep a table or chairs, and while they eat they fall into a silence that’s more companionable than awkward. Whatever strange dance they’ve been doing around each other over the past few weeks may have been knocked off-tempo with this evening’s stray from the norm, but now it feels like they’ve got their footing back.

“Remember the summer we found the kitten in the back of the garden?” Charles asks, and Erik’s lips twitch unbidden at the memory of the mangy little thing, mewling and helpless before Charles rescued it from the tangle of creeping vines it’d gotten itself into. “We stole a book from the study just to read up how to care of it.”

“And then my mother took pity on the poor thing and rescued it from _us_ ,” Erik says, and Charles laughs softly. Erik can remember lying on his stomach beside Charles on the kitchen floor, watching the kitten lap at a saucer of milk. “It scratched you when you tried to bathe it, too.”

“I still have the scar,” Charles says, lifting his forearm and drawing back a sleeve to show Erik the long, thin scar down the length of his pale skin, nearly faded completely but just barely still visible.

“Well deserved,” Erik remarks, and tries not to smile when Charles scoffs.

“She needed a bath, the poor thing was filthy,” he insists, and tilts his head back against the couch. “She had a litter of kittens a few years back. The gardeners kept a couple of them to help catch rats and the like.”

Erik merely nods, swirling his spoon through the last remains of his stew slowly. In the years since he left the Xavier household he’d worked hard to bury any idyllic memories from his shared childhood with Charles, unwilling to dwell on what he’d forcibly severed himself from and save himself from ever regretting leaving. They’d always stood out in his mind, though, golden like treasure and bittersweet reminders of when life had been...perfect.

“I wonder if this storm intends to last the entire weekend,” he says to change the subject, pretending to concentrate on spooning up the last of his stew when Charles glances over at him.

“I don’t know,” Charles answers neutrally, and lets the conversation drop.

When they’re both finished eating, Erik collects their dishes and gently pushes Charles out of the kitchen despite his offers to do the washing up, sending him back over to the couch while Erik does it himself. The silence between them is different now, charged in a way that isn’t uncomfortable, exactly, but not the same as the easy silence they’d shared earlier. Despite the early hour—it’s only just past true nightfall even though it’s been dark outside all day with the storm—Erik feels tired, and suddenly wants nothing more than to go curl up in his bed and fall into a hopefully dreamless sleep till morning comes.

He tells himself it’s not because he wants to hide from Charles.

“It’s still raining hard,” Erik says to Charles once the last scrubbed bowl is placed on the drying rack, “and no cabbie in his right mind will still be out.”

“I can make a run for it again,” Charles says, standing up from where he’d been curled on the couch. “Let me just change back into my clothes, it doesn’t matter if they’re still wet since I’m just going to get soaked again any—”

“Stay here for the night,” Erik interrupts him abruptly, making himself meet Charles’ eyes, “I insist.”

Charles is too caught off-guard to conceal his surprise. “You’ve already done quite enough for me this evening, my friend, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Don’t be daft,” Erik says dryly, and this time Charles grins, “I refuse to be responsible for what’s certain to be tomorrow’s headlines if I let you run back home across the entire city in the dark during a storm. _Xavier Heir Found Drowned in the Streets_ ,” he quotes, while Charles makes a show of rolling his eyes.

“You greatly underestimate my abilities to see myself safely home,” Charles admonishes, but then sighs. “I can’t deny that I wouldn’t mind staying. Home doesn’t seem nearly as welcoming right now as here,” he admits, before adding with amusement, “even though my current host is under the impression I’m utterly incapable of taking care of myself.”

“I’ll believe it only when I see it,” Erik says with a straight face, and catches the cushion Charles chucks at him. “Give me a moment to change my sheets, and then you can take my bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Absolutely not,” Charles says at once, grabbing onto the backrest as if he means to anchor himself down in place and refuse to budge. “I agreed to stay here for the night, not take your bed from you. _I’ll_ take the couch.”

“You’re the guest,” Erik points out.

“And I’m saying I’d rather sleep on the couch,” Charles answers firmly, and then as if to prove his point flops down and stretches theatrically. “It’s more than comfortable.”

“Fine,” Erik says, too weary to argue with him. He moves out of the kitchen and towards the hall, dropping the cushion by Charles’ feet as he passes. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

“Thank you, Erik,” Charles says, his tone growing a little more serious. It’s hard to see his exact expression in the dim light. “I really appreciate all this.”

“It’s nothing,” Erik mutters, and goes to dig through his closet for something Charles can use as a blanket for the night. When he returns with an old woolen throw and the extra pillow from his bed, the light in the kitchen has been turned down and Charles is already dozing, though he sits up once he sees Erik.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” he says with a rueful smile, accepting the pillow and blanket, “it’s been an extraordinarily long day.”

“No, it’s fine,” Erik assures him, “I was planning on turning in early tonight too.”

“Thank you again,” Charles tells him, watching his face intently. What he hopes to find, Erik doesn’t know.

“What else are old friends for,” Erik says, and then backs away towards his bedroom again to make his escape. “If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Alright,” Charles says softly, and his head disappears below the backrest of the couch when he lies down again. “Goodnight, Erik.”

“Goodnight,” Erik echoes, and turns to go. As soon as he’s safely back inside his bedroom he shuts the door and lets out a long breath. His room is comfortingly dark, only the sound of the rain outside pattering against his window breaking up the silence. In no time he’s stripped down to just his breeches, leaving everything else in a pile on the floor before crawling up onto his mattress and collapsing down into refreshingly cool sheets.

He doesn’t know where this heavy exhaustion is coming from; maybe it’s from being trapped indoors all day because of the storm, left with nothing to do but chase his own thoughts round and round in circles, or maybe it’s from Charles himself, and the way he unintentionally and unwittingly dangles himself in front of Erik, a constant living and breathing reminder of exactly what Erik can not and will not ever have. If Erik were a better man with stronger resolve he would’ve told Charles to leave weeks ago, and refused to take on the commission of the rings for his wedding in the first place in order to save himself the heartache, but perhaps part of him believes he deserves this specific kind of torture, like some kind karmic justice for abandoning Charles willingly in the first place.

But even if he hadn’t left and had stayed on as a servant for House Xavier, this same day still would’ve come, and Erik would have had to watch Charles be married off to Cain after years of remaining close. Perhaps he’s being let off easy anyway. It doesn’t feel like it.

Erik falls into a restless sleep, drifting off to the soft noise of the rain.

—————

His room is still pitch black when he wakes, disorientated and confused at first as to why he’s woken up again in the first place when it feels like he’s only slept two or three hours at most. It doesn’t take him long to discover why, his eyes finally adjusting to where he can make out the outline of Charles in his doorway, his entire form taut with hesitation and an uncertainty so unlike him that Erik sits up at once.

“Charles?” he asks, blinking several times and willing the sleep to clear from his eyes so Charles comes into better view. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” Charles says, but before Erik can throw off the covers and stand Charles crosses the room in three swift strides and climbs up onto the bed, crawling forward to kneel over Erik’s legs. It puts their faces inches apart in the dark and Erik hardly dares to breathe. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping,” Charles whispers into the scant space left between them, “but Erik, I—” he cuts off with a small impatient noise and leans the rest of the way forward to press his lips against Erik’s.

Shocked, at first all Erik can do is remain absolutely still, unresponsive and unsure if this isn’t some kind of dream. But Charles is solid and warm where he’s perched comfortably atop Erik’s thighs, and his mouth is soft and his lips smooth, but it’s all so unexpected that Erik thinks he might short-circuit.

But then Charles pulls back, eyes resigned, and finally Erik moves, one hand moving up to clutch at Charles’ hair on the back of his head while the other winds around his back to tug him closer, bringing their chests flush together. Charles lets out a small sound of surprise that’s muffled when Erik kisses him back, open-mouthed and desperate.

Charles sighs into the kiss, going loose and liquid against Erik. He wraps both his arms around Erik’s back and allows his knees to fall forward so his thighs frame Erik’s hips, pressing their bodies together from groin to chest. When his lips part Erik surges forward hungrily, and they lose themselves to the wet, sticky glide of a kiss that’s been weeks in the making.

They break apart to gulp in air, panting against each other’s mouths in the dark, and wordlessly they fumble to get Charles’ borrowed shirt off, pulling it up and over his head and discarding it somewhere to the side and leaving him bare-chested like Erik. They kiss again, Charles rocking forward against Erik to push his tongue in between Erik’s lips, and Erik moans into it as the motion causes their cocks to brush against each other with an electrifying jolt.

“Charles,” Erik gasps out, fisting his hand in Charles’ hair, head spinning even as his hips jerk up again for more.

“Please,” Charles whispers against Erik’s lips, eyes closed and mouth slack as he grinds down, unmistakably hard, “please, oh please—”

With shaky fingers Erik gets a hand down between them, guiding Charles forward with his other hand into another sloppy kiss, scraping his teeth against Charles’ lower lip before taking his mouth again. One of Charles’ hands joins Erik’s and they yank and pull at the laces of each other’s breeches, undoing the fronts of their trousers and shuddering every time their fingers brush across their cocks.

“Do you want,” Charles pants out, eyes open and dark with arousal, his hair a wild disarray from Erik’s continuous petting, “I can stop if you—”

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you again,” Erik confesses in a breathy rush, ducking his head down to mouth at the pale column of Charles’ throat. He whispers his next words directly against Charles’ pulsepoint, relishing in the full-body shudder Charles gives against him. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Charles moans, and then a moment later his fingers dip down into the open front of Erik’s breeches and close around his cock, bringing him up out into the open. Erik jerks, swearing fervently and clumsily following suit, wrapping his hand around Charles’ hot, thick cock and drawing him up out of his pants as well.

He drags his hand slowly up the length and Charles whimpers, the strangled sound vibrating directly against Erik’s lips as Erik resumes his exploration of Charles’ throat. “Together,” Charles says breathlessly, and Erik can only nod in affirmation, drunk with lust, and somehow they both get their cocks pressed together between their overlapping hands.

It’s too dry at first, the angle awkward for their wrists, but gradually they work up a rhythm of thrusting up together into the grip of their hands, cocks rubbing against one another and growing more and more slick with precome. Erik wishes there was light so he could actually see what they look like, what Charles’ cock looks like, but for now this is more than good enough. Their moans and sighs permeate the dark, followed by the wet sounds of another feverish kiss while they rock together all the way to completion.

Charles is the first to come, bursting hot and sticky against Erik’s palm with a soft gasp that Erik drinks up, sealing their lips together as Charles spasms against him. Erik tightens his grip around their cocks, smearing Charles’ come across them both as he jacks them both, biting down on Charles’ lip. Fumbling, Charles moves his hand up to the head of Erik’s cock and twists, fingers sliding with the slick, and Erik is done for, the trembling tightness coiling in his belly releases itself like a spring at long last and a long, low moan grinding its way up along his vocal cords as he stripes both their bellies with come.

For a few long moments afterwards all either of them can do it pant, gasping for breath like they’ve just run miles. Erik becomes abruptly aware of the sweat on his temples, and the ache in his back from sitting up so straight while Charles presses against him, but above all else he feels like the dark, aching tension he’s been carrying around for weeks has finally drained from his body, leaving him loose-limbed and truly exhausted.

Charles tips his head forward to rest against Erik’s shoulder, nuzzling against Erik’s skin and placing a small kiss atop the ridge of bone. Erik takes it as a cue to allow himself to fall slowly backwards against his pillows, pressing one hand to the small of Charles’ back so Charles folds forward on top of him, shifting his legs until he’s stretched out on top of Erik sleepily. Erik rolls sideways, gently depositing Charles onto the sheets beside him, reaching back to grab the corner of his sheet to wipe the come off their stomachs and hands as best as he can.

Once Erik’s tossed the soiled end of the sheet aside and pulled up the blanket to cover them both, Charles shifts forward till he’s cuddled up close, eyes already drifting shut. They share one last kiss, this one soft and chaste, just a mere brush of their lips before they fall asleep like this, Erik’s forehead still pressed against Charles’ and their legs tangled together with no distance left between them.

Outside, the rain continues to pour.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Thunder is rumbling over the soft sound of the rain when Erik wakes, only a dull, grey light filtering in weakly through the blinds signaling morning has come even while the storm still lingers over the city. Someone is stroking gentle fingers through his hair, a soothing, repetitive motion that’s nearly enough to send him drifting off again, loose and relaxed under the warm blankets.

When he cracks his eyes open, he and Charles are side-by-side and face-to-face, curled towards each other like parentheses. Charles’ fingers hesitate only a moment when he sees Erik is awake, but when Erik merely watches him quietly his fingers resume their deft slide through Erik’s hair.

“Hi,” Charles says softly. He’s rumpled from sleep, one thick curl of hair flopping limply across his forehead. He’s smiling faintly, like he can’t help it, can’t help but be happy to see Erik’s face across from him in bed, but Erik can detect the small amount of wariness in his eyes, watching Erik and waiting for a reaction.

“Good morning,” Erik answers, and slides one hand up between them to carefully brush the curl back from Charles’ forehead, swiping his thumb across Charles’ soft cheek.

Charles’ smile grows, some of the tension leaving his expression. “Everything good?”

At first Erik doesn’t answer, continuing to stroke Charles’ cheek slowly, contemplative. He doesn’t know how he feels. He should feel angry, perhaps, at Charles for instigating this and at himself for following through, when neither of them have any business starting an affair; especially now of all times. Or bitter, for that same reason.

But he hadn’t been lying last night when he’d said he’s wanted Charles from the start. He’s always wanted Charles, and maybe he’d used his mother’s passing as an excuse to finally sever ties with Charles for good, before Charles could ever realize the truth and before either of them could be hurt by it. And yet here they are now, in bed together at last, and Erik can’t bring himself to feel anything but stupidly _happy_ , despite all the reasons why he shouldn’t. Charles wants him too.

Charles belongs to someone else.

“You’re getting married, Charles,” is all Erik says quietly, even while he keeps his hold on Charles’ face and makes no motion to push him away. “I’m designing your wedding rings.”

A shadow crosses Charles’ face, his fingers in Erik’s hair falling still again. “I know. I…” He lets out a long, shuddering sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this.”

“I wanted you to,” Erik tells him, and Charles smiles, Erik’s chest constricting at how painfully beautiful he is in the pallid morning light.

“I can’t tell you how unbelievably happy that makes me,” Charles says softly, eyes bright, “because you know I’ve always, always lo—”

Erik leans forward to cut him off with a kiss before he can say it, and Charles makes a soft sound as he returns it, their tongues sliding together with soft, wet sounds. Erik’s heart feels like it might burst or break, or perhaps it already has, making him gasp against Charles’ mouth, unable to remain silent with the torrents of emotion streaming through him.

“Will you let me have this,” Charles whispers, voice trembling as he kisses Erik again and again, “for just a little while—before I have to—”

“This will only make it worse,” Erik breathes out, but he’s not saying no, he could never say no—

“I know,” Charles says, the words coming out as fervent as a prayer, raining a line of kisses down Erik’s throat and chest, “I know, I know—”

He ducks down underneath the blanket and Erik feels him lick a wet stripe down his belly, making his muscles ripple and twitch at the tickling sensation. Erik gulps in a breath, staring blankly up at his spotted ceiling and willing himself to relax as Charles presses feather-light kisses against the inside of his thighs, breath puffing over Erik’s hard, straining cock that stands at attention between his legs. It’s taking all his might not to reach down and grab Charles by the hair, instead fisting his hands into the bedspread and trying not to swear when Charles licks tentatively at his balls.

“ _Charles_ —” Erik pleads, pelvis rolling and spine threatening to arch up out of sheer desperation.

Underneath the blanket Charles sits up a little, his hands sliding up to rest on either side of Erik’s hips. He leans down and wraps his lips around the head of Erik’s cock, the warm, wet suction making Erik moan and twist under Charles’ grip. He feels Charles exhale sharply through his nose, continuing to take Erik in as much as he can. Erik leans up and rips the blanket off, throwing it aside because he wants to see, has to see—

Charles looks up at him with smokey, half-lidded eyes, red lips forming a perfect _o_ around Erik’s cock, slick and shiny with spit. As Erik watches raptly, almost hypnotized by the sight, Charles bobs his head, sucking Erik’s cock further into his mouth. He gags a little, clumsy with inexperience but he makes up for it with the way he slides his tongue against the underside of Erik’s cock, lapping at him and moaning around him like he’s starving for it.

Erik comes like a teenager, instantly and violently, toes curling and thighs squeezing Charles’ shoulders tightly as his whole body clenches with it. Charles tries to swallow as much as he can, but he ends up pulling back to cough and the rest of Erik’s come splatters against his lips and cheeks. When he sees, Erik gives a small groan at the sight.

“I’ll get better,” Charles promises him, voice hoarse, and licks his abused lips slowly, humming thoughtfully at the taste.

“Any better and you’ll kill me,” Erik says weakly, and lifts a watery arm to reach for him. “Come here.”

Grinning, Charles complies, clambering forward to straddle Erik’s hips now, slotting their bodies back together and settling in place. Pressing down lightly on the small of Charles’ back, Erik guides him to lean forward until Charles ranges over him, hard and leaking cock pressed between their bellies. Now that it’s no longer the pitch black darkness of the night, Erik drinks in the sight of Charles, taking in his soft, pale skin covered in millions of freckles that make Erik want to map out each and every one of them with his tongue, and lick every inch of Charles’ compact body, his angles softer than Erik’s and lined with a quieter kind of strength.

“Come on, darling,” Erik says, the endearment slipping out unintentionally but it makes Charles’ eyes go bright as stars, “come on—”

Charles ruts against Erik’s stomach, head thrown back and granting Erik the view of his pale throat. Erik puts his hands right over Charles’ ass, holding onto him there as he rocks back and forth, dragging his cock against the flat plane of Erik’s stomach. With each forward thrust Charles lets out a small, strangled sound, biting his lower lip and forearms trembling where his hands are braced against the bed on either side of Erik’s head.

Rubbing along the crease of Charles’ ass, Erik slips a finger between his cheeks and Charles’ hips stutter, smearing precome across Erik’s stomach with a gasp. Erik cranes his neck forward, lifting his head up as far as he can to lap at one of Charles’ nipples, and Charles moans, writhing over Erik and grinding down against him more.

Erik’s probing finger catches against the rim of Charles’ hole, dipping just a tiny bit inside just as Erik sucks Charles’ nipple fully into his mouth and Charles comes with a loud cry. He spills across Erik, moaning as Erik continues to lick at his chest, turning his nipples into pink little mounds. He squeezes Charles’ ass gently, kneading the muscles there, and slides his finger back out of Charles’ crack, moving his hands back up to Charles’ sides just in time to catch him when his quivering arms give out at last and he collapses down. He rolls them onto their sides again, splayed out on top of the sheets.

“That was…” Charles murmurs dazedly, cheeks flushed and lips curling a dopey smile. He leans forward to kiss Erik, messy but sweet, and Erik can taste himself in Charles’ mouth. If he weren’t already spent he thinks he’d probably get hard again at the notion alone.

“A bad idea,” Erik sighs when they part, but closes his fingers loosely around one of Charles’ wrists, encircling the deceptively fine bones. Even here Charles’ soft skin is dappled by freckles, and Erik finds himself idly imagining the kind of bracelet cuffs he could design for Charles to wear, for casual days or formal events alike.

“You’re not angry, are you?”

“No.” Erik almost wishes that he was, but he’s too selfish and wants this too much.

“So we’re okay?” Charles asks, regarding Erik solemnly.

Twelve hours ago Erik had no hope of ever being able to touch Charles beyond a handshake, let alone watch him come apart in orgasm, and Charles wants to know if they’re okay. Erik huffs out a breath, trying to quash the rise of hysteria in his chest. “We’re okay.”

Charles lets out a shaky breath, visibly relieved. “Last night I was afraid you’d reject me then. After you didn’t, I worried this morning you would for certain.” He sounds wondrous, like he can still hardly believe it.

That makes two of them. “I never thought…” The words grow thick and heavy, lodging in Erik’s throat. He doesn’t know if he can confess to Charles, even though he knows now Charles shares his feelings.

Unfortunately Charles has always been too intuitive for his own good. “Is that why you left,” he says softly, searching Erik’s face, “because you were in love with me?”

“I was devastated by the loss of my mother,” Erik answers, voice barely audible, “but yes. That was the other reason.”

“Oh Erik,” Charles says, and scoots forward to wrap himself around Erik completely, uncaring how dirty and sticky they’ve become. His arms wrap around Erik’s back and Erik’s startled to realize this is the most he’s been touched by another person in a long time.

For his part Erik merely buries his face in the juncture of Charles’ neck and shoulder, breathing him in and taking comfort in the fact that for now, he doesn’t have to let Charles go. They lie quietly together like this for a few minutes, and Charles begins to slowly stroke one hand up and down the length of Erik’s spine, like he too can’t get enough of their contact.

“It’s still raining,” Charles says eventually, broaching the peaceful silence.

Sure enough, when Erik bothers to listen more closely he can hear the rain outside, constant and steady with still no sign of letting up. “I guess you’re stuck here till it finally passes.”

Charles laughs softly, warm and delighted. “I guess I am.”

 

—————

 

Eventually they do manage to drag themselves out of bed, slipping into the shower together to wash each other off, but not before they end up rutting against each other till they come again, allowing all the stickiness to swirl down the drain. Afterwards Erik cooks them a very late breakfast, though this time when he stands at the stove he has Charles plastered against his side and they share slow, sloppy kisses over the sizzling eggs in the pan.

Morning wears on to the afternoon and they end up on Erik’s couch together, since it’s the city’s day of rest and Erik never bothers to open up the shop. Erik stretches out on his back with Charles lying on top of him, his weight comforting and grounding while they kiss, slow and languid, like they have all the time in the world. Erik can’t stop his hands from wandering restlessly across Charles, the novelty of being able to touch whenever and wherever he wants too good to pass up. They end up rubbing each other off again, right on Erik’s couch, and Erik doesn’t even care that they’ve effectively stained two pairs of his trousers at once—his own and the ones Charles borrowed from him.

By late afternoon the rain has petered out at last, a few golden rays of sunlight illuminating Erik’s window as the clouds clear up and the storm leaves the city behind. Erik’s pulled out the bench at his worktable, bent over a pair of earrings meant to be a coming-of-age present for Lady Katherine Pryde from her mother, and Charles sits as closely beside him as he can manage without sitting in Erik’s lap, watching him work with avid curiosity and pressing small kisses every now and then to Erik’s neck.

“I do need to get back tonight,” Charles admits reluctantly, resting his chin on Erik’s shoulder. “I don’t want Kurt to start a search party or anything drastic.”

“Your clothes should be dry by now,” Erik says neutrally, but carefully sets his tools and the piece he’s working on down before turning to face him.

Charles, Erik has always thought, is the most self-confident person he’s ever met but right now he looks uncertain. “I’ll go change, then.” He untangles himself from Erik and climbs off the bench, slipping down the hall towards the washroom.

Once Charles is out of sight, Erik runs a hand over his face, letting out a breath. In the time it takes Charles to change back into his rumpled but dry clothes, Erik’s come to a decision and stands waiting for him by the door that leads to the stairs.

“This stops once you’re married,” Erik says, even as he takes Charles’ hand and knits their fingers together, “understand?”

“Yes,” Charles answers at once, a flurry of emotions flickering across his face before he settles on a relieved smile. “Thank you, Erik, I—you’re giving me more than I hoped for,” he says simply, but Erik shakes his head.

“Don’t.”

“Alright,” Charles concedes in understanding. He pauses, and really Erik knows by now there’s no stopping Charles from saying what he wants, misguided or not. “I’m sorry it has to be like this,” he says softly, the plain regret on his face enough to make Erik’s heart ache with it too, “I’m sorry I never—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Erik repeats. As much as it’d be easier to let Charles take the blame for their star-crossed paths, and direct his rage towards society and the differing circumstances of their social status, Erik knows he’s the one most at fault. He never should have left, all those years ago. He should’ve confessed sooner. Maybe then Charles would’ve eloped with him, and right now they’d be somewhere far away from this city, together, and the last ten years would’ve been filled with something like happiness instead of solitary loneliness.

He should cut this off now. It’s only going to make things harder when the day of Charles’ wedding comes. But the wedding isn’t for another two weeks, and if two weeks is all he’ll ever have of Charles, then Erik wants every single second. It will be something he can hold on to, after, and take out to polish and reminisce on when Charles is married and Erik is alone.

“Okay,” Charles says, stepping up close to wrap his arms around Erik tightly, pressing his face into Erik’s shoulder. “Okay.”

They stay embraced by the door for some time, breathing with each other. Eventually they wordlessly let go, save for their linked hands, and Erik leads Charles back down the stairs to the shop below, walking him to the front door to let him out into the street. Everything is still wet, sidewalk stained dark and large puddles littering the street, but the late afternoon sun blazes brightly now that it’s been freed from the clouds, casting an orange glow across everything and making the water drops still covering the leaves of the bushes and trees glimmer like jewels. No one’s in sight, most of the other shops in this district locked up and closed on Sunday too, so there aren’t even shoppers walking down this way.

It’s why Erik doesn’t try to push Charles away when he dares to lean up for one last kiss—there’s no one around to witness and possibly damage Charles’ reputation. When Erik catches himself thinking it, however, he stops to wonder: who cares more about Charles’ reputation in the first place, Charles or himself?

“You’re sure you don’t want me to call you a carriage?” Erik asks him when they part at last, Charles standing out on the sidewalk while Erik leans against the doorway of his shop.

“I’d rather walk,” Charles answers, flashing a brief smile. “It’ll give me more time to come up with a story as to where I’ve been.”

Erik nods wordlessly. Charles already has a bit of fine stubble forming on his chin and cheeks, and coupled with his rumbled clothes and wildly curling hair, he looks more content than Erik’s ever seen him during the past few weeks combined, even despite the lingering uncertainty in his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I hope so.”

It earns him one last smile, surety returning, and then Charles turns to go, making his lone way up the street and very purposefully, Erik thinks, without looking back. Erik remains where he is, as he always does, and tries not to think about how he’s just officially put a timer on how long Charles will be in his life.

They hadn’t ever talked about it before, when Charles was just a visitor in the shop. It would’ve been hard enough for Charles to continue making up excuses to see Erik after his wedding, but now it’s impossible. It has to _be_ impossible, because now they’re lovers, and Erik refuses to let himself be nothing more than Charles’ dirty secret. It isn’t fair.

To either of them.

 

—————

 

The following week Charles comes to the shop every single day. He sits behind the counter with Erik like before, only now there’s no careful distance left between them at all times—whenever the shop empties out they’re touching in some way, be it their shoulders brushing every time Erik passes by Charles’ perch on the stool, or their hands linked beneath the counter where no one passing by outside will ever see.

“You’re going to cause rumors to start flying,” Erik says on the second day, after he’s bundled up a necklace for Lady Worthington and handed it off to the courier she’s sent who most certainly recognized Charles while he waited for Erik to finish the wrappings. The man had refained from commenting, no doubt in deference to Charles’ rank, but it doesn’t mean he won’t report things to her ladyship once he returns to the Worthington estate with his parcel.

“Let them talk,” Charles says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, and then glances out the front window to make sure no one’s passing by before he pulls Erik over for a kiss.

Charles is never able to spend the night, and they’ve both resigned themselves to his leaving when Erik closes up the shop at dusk, Erik returning upstairs alone while Charles makes his way back to the Xavier mansion. It doesn’t mean they haven’t put good use to Erik’s lunch hour; Erik’s actually taken to closing up the shop completely right at noon so they can stumble up the stairs to his apartment and take each other apart in one way or another—blowjobs or handjobs or just collapsing onto the couch and rutting against each other like animals in heat. On one memorable afternoon they don’t even make it that far, Erik pushing Charles down on top of his worktable in the back room of the shop and sucking his cock right there, Charles moaning so loudly it’s a wonder no one in the antique shop next door hears him.

Even so, both of them are constantly aware of the ticking clock that might as well be floating over their heads every time they see each other. Neither of them mentions it, and it makes Erik relieved and angry in equal turns—relieved because neither of them tries to complicate matters by pushing for more, and angry because it feels like they’ve given up, and are just going to let circumstances tear them apart for good without doing anything to stop it.

He hasn’t broached the subject of why Charles is getting married in the first place again, not when he knows at this point it’ll sound desperate. They’re down to the wire now on time, the wedding taking place on the weekend after next, and Erik hasn’t even finished the rings despite having received his shipment of emeralds days ago. Maybe the wedding won’t be able to happen at all if there are no rings, he tells himself, but the joke falls flat even in his head.

On Friday, Erik almost starts to believe that Charles isn’t going to come by at all until he shows up, arriving only minutes before closing. “Sorry,” he says apologetically, leaning up on his toes for an over-the-counter kiss and Erik is so glad to see him he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed, “I couldn’t get away earlier. Everyone’s gone mad over last-minute preparations for the wedding, even _Cain_ was starting to get picky about things. I’m so tired of it all.”

“Ah,” Erik says, his initial burst of happiness from seeing Charles walk in the door fading. “You didn’t have to come if it was too much.”

“Are you kidding? I couldn’t wait to escape,” Charles says, and plants a large paper bag on the counter. “I brought dinner, _and_ the promise that no one will be looking for me until at least tomorrow morning.” He’s smiling, but it’s a little manic around the edges, brittle enough for cracks to show.

Erik walks out around the counter so he can draw Charles into his arms, pressing his nose into Charles’ soft hair. Charles heaves out a quiet sigh, leaning into him, and they stand like that for a few moments, soaking in each other’s presence. “Why don’t you head upstairs and set dinner out while I close up down here?”

“Sure,” Charles agrees, pulling away gently, and this time his smile is more natural.

While Charles clomps up the stairs in back, Erik wastes no time in closing up his shop as promised. By the time everything is covered to his liking, all locked down, and he makes his way upstairs, Charles has several small cartons of hot food from evening market set out along the kitchen counter and dug through Erik’s drawers to find utensils. They eat right there, standing side-by-side in Erik’s tiny kitchen and their forks crossing every time they steal bites from directly in front of each other.

“I haven’t finished your rings,” Erik says once the trash has been cleared away and forks placed in the basin to wash later. The wedding is still the last thing he wants to talk about but he feels he owes Charles some form of honesty at least on a professional level. “I haven’t even started the new version of them yet, but I can—”

“Please, Erik,” Charles interrupts him gently, taking one of his hands in both of his own and tugging him lightly out of the kitchen. Erik follows him like a horse on a lead as Charles starts pulling him back towards the bedroom. “Not tonight.”

“Alright,” Erik says. He’s not putting up much resistance but at least he brought it up.

Charles ends up fucking him that night, fast and feverish while they pant into each other’s mouths. Their hands tangle on the bed on either side of Erik’s head where Charles braces himself to push in with one long slick, greasy glide and Erik arches up to meet him, trembling legs fallen open wide. Their sweat makes things slippery but the burn is good, Erik leaning up to kiss every inch of Charles’ pale throat he can reach when Charles throws his head back and bucks into him, hitting just the right spot to make Erik’s toes curl until he comes, whispering Charles’ name and splashing hot and wet between them.

Afterwards, when Charles has spent himself too, curling forward with a soft sigh as he shakes apart over Erik, they clumsily wipe each other down and rearrange themselves in the sheets, curled as close as humanly possible. Charles hums contentedly when Erik noses the side of his neck, stroking one hand down Erik’s flank. Erik can still feel a small trickle of come leaking from his hole, only serving to make him shiver lightly and tuck himself closer alongside Charles.

He feels good, loose and relaxed like Charles has fucked all of the tension and worry right out of him, but even then there’s only so long it can last. Charles seems to be well on his way to dozing off while Erik can only begin to start thinking again about how the wedding is next weekend, how this coming week will be his last few days with Charles ever. There will be no finding each other in another ten years. This is it.

“Go to sleep,” Charles mumbles eventually, when some of Erik’s tension must become obvious in the lines of his body. Without opening his eyes he shifts onto his side and nuzzles up against Erik, sliding his arms around Erik and holding him close.

Erik huffs out a tiny breath in a laugh at the way Charles snuggles up to him like some kind of burrowing mammal, willing his muscles to relax. “Alright.”

“Good,” Charles murmurs, and after that it’s easier to drop off to sleep in between one breath and the next, with Charles’ arms warm and secure around him.

 

—————

 

In the morning Erik thinks he feels Charles get up at some point, accompanied by a whispered goodbye and a soft kiss pressed to his temple, but he’s long gone by the time Erik fully wakes. Erik makes himself get up, stretching and relishing in the delicious burn from the night before. Then he sets about stripping his bed to take the sheets down the street to the wash.

It’s the weekend and he usually uses the slower Saturdays to catch up on any commissions he hadn’t had time to get to during the week, and the rings for Charles’ wedding are at the top of his list, sitting waiting on his workbench in his sitting room.

Erik passes by and heads downstairs without pause.

 

—————

 

He doesn’t see Charles again till Monday afternoon, after the weekend has passed in a slow drag of time. Despite how he’d spent most of it in equal parts frustration and terrible helplessness, Erik wishes it would’ve passed even slower—then perhaps the day of Charles’ wedding would never arrive at all.

“Hi,” Charles greets him warmly, happy to see him but his smile is weary as he leans up for a quick kiss. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to come every day this week. Things are...tense, back home. They’re not very happy I’m somehow managing to slip off each day.”

“Just come whenever you can,” Erik makes himself say, trying not to let any anger on Charles’ behalf bleed into his body language or tone. “Marko isn’t threatening you again, is he?”

“I’m still dodging having to sign the marriage contract until this Sunday,” Charles admits, “so he still isn’t pleased with me but now that the wedding’s so close anyway he’s backed off a little. He knows I’ll sign it by the end of this weekend. You’ll still come to the reception, won’t you?” he asks, switching tracks. “The rehearsal dinner is Saturday night and I’d ask you to come to that too but there’s a guest list involved.”

Going to the reception of Charles’ wedding is now the last thing Erik ever wants to do, especially since they’ve come clean to each other on their true feelings and are planning on breaking things off once the wedding is complete. Seeing Charles at the reception and having to watch him pretend to be happily married to Cain will only feel like they’re torturously, pointlessly dragging things out. A cleaner break would be better for both of them.

“If I can’t get the rings done in time, I’d be too ashamed to show my face,” Erik jokes weakly, thinking of the bands that went untouched the entire weekend. This is different from the times before when he’d been almost eager to get them done, so he could put them out of sight and out of mind as soon as possible, but now with this level of procrastination he’ll likely end up working on them down to the wire.

“Right,” Charles agrees with a faint smile, but Erik can tell Charles sees right through the way Erik hasn’t made a solid promise one way or the other.

The shop is currently empty and Erik will be able to hear the bell on the door anyway if someone comes in, so Erik pulls Charles into the back room and into an embrace. They’re just out of sight from anyone who happens to glance into the shop, and it allows them to press close to one another for just a minute and simply be with one another.

Just another minute, Erik tells himself, willing the bell over the door not to chime, just a minute more.

 

—————

 

Tuesday is distinctly lacking in Charles, but he comes again on Wednesday, marching straight up to Erik exactly at noon and dropping to his knees behind the counter to take Erik’s cock out of his pants and then proceeds to suck his brains out. He has to leave soon after and while Erik doesn’t beg him to stay,  leaning weakly against the counter to conceal the way the bones in his legs have been liquified, he comes very close. Charles doesn’t show up again until Thursday evening as Erik’s closing up the shop, and he comes bearing sobering news.

“I can’t come tomorrow at all,” he says as Erik lowers the grate in the window. When Erik turns around Charles looks wretched, wringing his hands together so tightly his knuckles have gone white. The ever-present stopclock on their time left together is winding down. “My mother has packed the day too full with socials and events and I wouldn’t be able to get out of any of it even if I tried. I only managed to come here now because she thinks I’m seeing the tailor for one last-minute adjustment right now.”

“Saturday?” Erik asks, hoping his voices comes out at an even pitch and doesn’t give away how his throat has constricted. He turns back around to finish locking the grate down in place so Charles won’t be able to see whatever expression is currently crossing his face.

“The rehearsal dinner is Saturday night,” Charles answers, “but I’m going to try to get here as early that morning as I can, so you’d better be awake.”

Composing himself and fixing his expression into something hopefully more neutral, Erik straightens again and goes to him. “I won’t bother opening the shop and have breakfast waiting,” he promises, prying Charles’ hands apart and lacing their fingers together. “Then you’ll stay till you have to leave for the dinner?”

“Yes,” Charles promises, “so you’d better have the rings done before then because I want all of your attention on me.” He’s trying to sound light and teasing, but his eyes give him away, tight and serious.

“They’ll be done, then,” Erik says, even though he still hasn’t touched the bands all this week. He leans down to kiss him, making a pleased sound when Charles parts his lips readily to reciprocate, and they lose themselves in this for some time until Charles reluctantly pulls away.

What he doesn’t say is, _It’s **always** entirely on you._

 

—————

 

Friday passes in a haze. During the business hours, Erik snaps at customers and is short-tempered with couriers who have come to collect their employer’s orders. He spends the entirety of his lunch break with the shop locked up tight even though he isn’t expecting Charles to show up—so he can sit in the back with his head in his hands instead.

He still hasn’t touched the rings for Charles’ wedding. He doesn’t want to. Just the thought of it makes him sick, bile rising up in the back of his throat and his hands beginning to shake. He cannot physically bring himself to make the bands that will symbolically represent how Charles is bound to someone else.

The end of the day can’t come fast enough, and with no potential visit from Charles to look forward to, Erik even locks up early. He isn’t hungry enough to consider dinner, appetite all but dried up. The one true love of his life is getting married in two days, after which Erik will probably never see him again.

The thought only serves to send him spiralling into another pit of self-disgust, because it was all well and good for him to pick up and leave Charles for ten years, but now since Charles is the one leaving him behind, Erik thinks he has any right to feeling how he does? _You’re a fool_ , he curses himself silently for the thousandth time as he paces back and forth restlessly in his small living room, _you deserve exactly what you’re going to get—a lifetime without him._

As soon as he’s had the thought, however, he rallies. So he made a mistake—a terrible mistake he’s never stopped regretting; the feeling only increasing tenfold since he and Charles have come to be back in each other’s lives again. But circumstances are different now, and Charles _knows_ Erik loves him, and has all but forgiven Erik for leaving. Why should he have to settle for letting Charles go again?

The answer, if there even is one, doesn’t come.

It’s a good thing he’d never be able to get to sleep tonight anyway with all of these emotions roiling inside him, because the unfinished wedding bands still sit on his worktable beside the small pouch of glittering emeralds. It’s going to take staying all night to get them done if he’s to dedicate all of his time to Charles tomorrow. Erik makes himself go over and sit down on the bench, turning on his lamp and pulling his tools out with mechanical efficiency. If he doesn’t make himself start right now, he knows he never will.

Erik dumps the emeralds out of the pouch, allowing them to scatter across the surface of the table with a soft clatter. All of them are neatly polished, roughly the same size and ready to be embedded in the platinum bands that will be fitted snugly to Cain and Charles’ ring fingers for the rest of their lives. Arranging them into a pile absently, Erik stares down at them contemplatively. He’s always liked emeralds, both for their color and the easy way they compliment most metals and even other stones. They’re versatile and age well, and any piece Erik can recall creating with them have arguably been some of his most elegant.

But for Charles, just like the rest of this entire wedding, emeralds are all _wrong_.

He sweeps the stones back into the pouch and pulls open one of the drawers to his left, digging through the contents inside as fast as he can to find what he’s looking for. He’s got his work cut out for him, after all, if he wants to be finished by dawn.

 

—————

 

Erik thinks he should be nervous when he greets Charles at the shop door bright and early the next morning, but while his nerves are admittedly jittery he’s too tired from staying up all night to be anything other than simply glad to see him. He lets Charles into the shop but stops at the front counter, leaning back against the solid glass and taking Charles in.

There’s something subdued and quiet about Charles today, and Erik can tell his shoulders are drawn and tight without even having to touch them. He’s dressed extremely simply, as if he doesn’t expect to keep his clothes on at all, which Erik can appreciate, and his hair is windswept and curling from the journey across the city. He is Charles, no different from any of the other times he’s come to the shop, and Erik’s heart aches just to look at him.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t finish the rings,” Charles says, though he doesn’t sound surprised in the least, as if he expected as much.

“The rings are done,” Erik answers, which is the honest truth. He’d finished them some hours ago, though he hadn’t bothered to go to bed until it was time for Charles to arrive. There’d been too much to do in the interim.

“Then?” Charles asks, glancing meaningfully towards the doorway to the back room, that will lead to the stairs up to Erik’s apartment. “I believe I was promised breakfast?”

“Did you sign the marriage contract yet?” Erik asks. He keeps his posture casual and relaxed, but every fiber of his being wants to lean forward, intent on Charles’ answer that will mean everything.

Like always, Charles doesn’t look happy to be discussing his wedding. “No, I haven’t,” he says flatly, “and I don’t intend to until right before I have to walk down the aisle with Cain. Can we go upstairs?”

As soon as the words are out of Charles’ mouth, Erik has all the confirmation he needs and drops down to one knee.

“What are you doing,” Charles says faintly, as Erik reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small, gleaming ring.

This ring is different in design from what Cain originally commissioned. Erik ended up doing away with the platinum bands entirely and used titanium instead, polishing the metal until his own reflection was flawlessly visible, smoothing out any imperfections on the outside surface. Instead of emeralds there are sapphires, brilliantly blue and yet still unable to hold a single candle to Charles’ own wide, blue eyes as he stares down at Erik in shock, and instead of going around the entire circumference of the ring, Erik only inlaid them in a single, diagonal band across what will serve as the center setting and top face of the ring.

“Come away with me,” Erik says, willing himself not to break eye contact with Charles and his voice coming out surprisingly even despite the trembling tightness in his chest, “leave this city behind. You’re getting married because you believe it’s your duty to your mother and to this society. Marry me,” he says, and he has to take a breath at how light-headed the idea still makes him feel, at how much he desperately hopes for Charles to say yes, “marry me and I promise it will be for love.”

“Erik,” Charles says, forehead creased and eyes still wide. He takes a breath, chest heaving, and Erik can’t discern the emotion in his eyes. “I—I can’t ask you to give up your life for me. This shop is your _livelihood_ , you built your business on your own from the ground up. I can’t ask you to throw all this away, even for me.”

It’s not a no, Erik tells himself, not yet. “I threw you away, once, for the opportunity to build this shop,” he says, gaze unwavering, “and see where it’s gotten me—I’ve been alone for ten years. I can rebuild my business anywhere we might land, or never rebuild it at all, I don’t _care_. But what I know can’t ever be rebuilt is you and I, if we choose to go our separate ways now.”

Charles blinks rapidly several times, and Erik has to swallow hard when his own eyes start to prickle. “You’re serious about this.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” Erik answers, painfully honest. He’s had a lot of time to think in the past few weeks. Last night feels like the first time he’d been thinking clearly, to lead up to this terrifying decision to put everything on the line like this.

No matter how Charles answers, Erik knows he won’t spend another ten years regretting it.

“I—” Charles breaks off, and then sucks in another sharp breath. “I wasn’t telling you the whole truth, back when you asked me why I was going along with the wedding.”

“What do you mean?” Erik asks, hardly daring to hope.

“I told you I was going to marry Cain because it was expected of me and what my mother wanted, which is true,” Charles says, “but I also agreed to marry Cain because I’d given up on waiting for you.”

“Charles,” Erik whispers.

He startles Erik when he suddenly laughs, a happy but wet sound, smiling so widely even as his eyes shine with tears. “I’d hoped you’d ask,” Charles bursts out, and it’s like the opening of a dam, “god, as soon as I saw you again I secretly hoped you’d ask me, but I didn’t want to ask _you_ because it didn’t seem fair, after you’d left to have your own life—”

“I was stupid to leave,” Erik says, and his vision is starting to waver now, the hand holding the ring shaking with emotion that can no longer be contained, “I never—”

Charles crashes down to his knees in front of Erik, flinging his arms around him and nearly making Erik drop the ring, but then they’re kissing and nothing else in the entire world matters anymore, just the feeling of Charles in his arms once Erik adjusts his own grip and the taste of Charles on his lips, making out like teenages kissing for the very first time all over again. Erik’s knees are starting to get sore but that merely comes secondary to the blinding happiness he feels, kissing Charles for all he’s worth and having Charles kiss him back—Charles may not have answered the question, but this must be answer enough.

Still, it would be nice to hear. When they finally break apart, panting for breath but smiling so widely Erik’s own cheeks hurt, Erik rests his forehead against Charles’ and takes his left hand.

“We can be packed onto a zeppelin bound for across the sea by the time the rehearsal dinner starts tonight,” Erik says, feeling out Charles’ third finger without looking away from Charles’ radiant blue eyes, still far more beautiful than any gemstone Erik could ever offer him. “Will you marry me?”

And Charles laughs, the sound bubbling up out of him with sheer, unrefined delight. “I thought you’d never ask,” he answers, and Erik slides the ring home right as Charles at long last says, “ _yes._ ”

 


End file.
